Evgeny Kissin
Washington Performing Arts Society
Wednesday, April 6, 2005 at 8:00 PM
Music Center at Strathmore

FREDERIC CHOPIN
Born Zelazowska Wola February 22, 1810 – October 17, 1849, Paris
Polonaise No. 1 in C-sharp minor, Op. 26, No. 1
Polonaise No. 2 in E-flat Major, Op. 26, No. 2
The polonaise – as its name implies – is of Polish origin, but that title does not begin to suggest how deeply this form is embedded in the national character. In triple time, it was originally intended as ceremonial music and could be sung or danced as part of festive processionals. By the 18th century, it had become a dance form, but Chopin took it a step further in his 15 polonaises for solo piano. He had left Poland at age 20, never to return, and as an anguished exile he watched the suffering of his homeland under Russian subjugation. While his polonaises do not have explicit programs, it is clear that this form had unusual meaning for him and that he invested it with an emotional intensity rare in his music. Was Chopin pouring out his feelings about his native country in this music? He insisted that all his music was abstract and should be understood only for itself, but his audiences, particularly in Poland, believed his polonaises to be expressions of nationalistic sentiment.
Chopin composed the two polonaises of his Op. 26 in 1834-5. They were the first examples of this old Polish dance form he had written since moving from Poland to Paris four years earlier. The brusque opening gesture of the Polonaise in C-sharp minor, which Chopin marks Allegro appassionato, leads to more lyric material in the characteristic polonaise rhythm. The middle section slows down a little (Chopin nevertheless marks it con anima), and the melodic line makes an unusual excursion into the left hand before the return of the opening material and a surprisingly quiet close.
The Polonaise in E-flat Major is more dramatic than its predecessor, despite its pianissimo beginning. Chopin marks this quiet opening Maestoso, and its suppressed strength quickly breaks out to sweep across the keyboard; Chopin’s marking agitato for this passage is exactly right. The central episode, in B Major and built on staccato chords, preserves some of the atmosphere of the beginning; the opening material returns and rushes the polonaise to its close, a conclusion made all the more effective by the sudden drop in dynamics in its final seconds.

Impromptu in A-flat Major, Op. 29
The title “impromptu” suggests – but does not literally mean – music made up on the spot. The term had been created in the early 19th century and used most memorably for Schubert’s eight Impromptus for piano, composed in 1827. But one should be wary of that title, which implies an atmosphere of casual, almost improvisatory music-making; such an impression of spontaneity and ease is usually achieved by a great deal of work and revision on the part of the composer.
This was certainly the case with Chopin, who wrote four impromptus. The Impromptu in A-flat Major, which dates from 1837, is notable for its complexity and difficulty: Chopin revised the music repeatedly as he wrote it, and it demands a pianist of formidable technique. It also goes like a rocket: the marking is Allegro assai, quasi presto, and the effect of the rippling triplets in both hands has been compared by many to the impression of sunlight sparkling off the surface of water. The middle section brings a change in rhythm and atmosphere. The restless triplets vanish, and in their place Chopin offers a noble if subdued melody that grows more animated as it proceeds; at its most dynamic, it takes on something of the quality of a cadenza and suddenly plunges back into the triplet rush of the opening. After all this sparkling energy, the close is surprisingly subdued.

Impromptu in F-sharp Major, Op. 36
Chopin composed the Impromptu in F-sharp Major during the summer of 1839, which he spent with George Sand at her summer estate at Nohant, south of Paris. The composer had recently been diagnosed with tuberculosis, and that summer brought warm weather and welcome quiet after his busy life in Paris. Sand described their summer routine: “We lead the same monotonous, quiet, gentle life. We dine in the open; our friends come to see us, now one, now another; we smoke and chat, and in the evening when they have gone, Chopin plays to me at twilight, after which he goes to bed like a child . . . ”
The Impromptu in F-sharp Major begins with a quiet Andantino: over subdued and steady accompaniment, the right hand has a gorgeous melody that quickly turns complex with Chopin’s characteristic “rhythmic sprays.” A chordal second subject leads to what seems to be a middle section, where–over dotted accompaniment– the music builds to a resounding (almost mock-heroic) climax. Now the unexpected begins: the opening subject returns, but in the “wrong” key of F Major and driven along restless triplets, and instead of bringing back the second subject, Chopin instead launches into a series of brilliant runs. These are marked leggiero (light), and they rise higher and higher in the piano’s register before suddenly winking out. Now – at last – Chopin retrieves his sedate second subject, and it marches this Impromptu to its sudden close.

Impromptu in G-flat Major, Op. 51
Chopin composed his Impromptu in G-flat Major in the fall of 1842, dedicated it to one of his students, and published it the following year; this impromptu is one of the works he performed at his infrequent public performances. The opening bears some resemblance to the opening of the famous Impromptu in A-flat Major: both begin with an energetic rush of triplets. Chopin marks the present work Presto, and it does move speedily, though without a suggestion of agitation. The transition to the central episode, in common time, is done quite subtly: Chopin has already begun to accent the original 12/8 meter as if it were 4/4, and the arrival of the middle section feels completely settled. This sostenuto central section is unusual because Chopin gives the noble melody entirely to the left hand, while the right accompanies; the transition back to the opening tempo is made just as subtly as the first transition.

Fantaisie-Impromptu in C-sharp minor, Op. 66
The Fantaisie-Impromptu in C-sharp minor, published after Chopin’s death, has become one of his best-loved (and most frequently performed) compositions, yet the composer was adamant that he did not want this music published, and he would have been furious if he learned that it had. And for a very particular reason: Chopin composed this music during his first years in Paris, and he knew that its impetuous opening, which he marks Allegro agitato, bore a very close relation to the Impromptu in E-flat Major of Ignaz Moscheles, a resemblance that would have been obvious to anyone who heard both works (the theme is not exactly the same, but it is very close). The music is quite “black” on the page, and that impression is confirmed by the opening section, which is in agitated motion. The central episode, a Largo in D-flat Major, is built on a melody that much later was used in the popular song “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows,” a fact that has not made this music any more attractive to Chopin scholars. The return to the opening material is abrupt (on its second appearance Chopin marks it Presto), and the music seems to be racing to its close when Chopin suddenly reins matters in and concludes with a brief reminiscence of the tune from the central episode.

Polonaise in C minor, Op. 40, No. 2
Chopin composed the two polonaises of his Op. 40 during the years 1838-9, and he performed them in Paris at one of his rare public concerts, on April 26, 1841. Though he completed the first of these two polonaises in Paris, Chopin did not finish the Polonaise in C minor until January 1839, when he and George Sand had gone to Majorca. Despite the storms that would pass through, Chopin loved it there. To a friend he wrote: “I am at Palma among palms, cedars, cactuses, olive-trees, oranges, lemons, aloes, figs, pomegranates . . . The sky is like turquoise, the sea like emerald, the air as in heaven . . . In a word, a superb life!” The polonaise he completed in Majorca is less extroverted than its predecessor. In the opening
section, the melodic interest is entirely in the left hand, which plays in octaves throughout, and the dynamic remains fairly quiet through this opening, though there are moments of agitation here as well. The middle episode, in Aflat Major, is marked espressivo, but this too grows more dramatic as it proceeds. The ending brings a surprise: rather than offering the expected repeat of the opening section, Chopin merely invokes a memory of it, and suddenly this polonaise is over.

Polonaise in A-flat Major, Op. 53
Chopin’s last polonaise, the Polonaise in A-flat Major, is one of his grandest works: exciting, dramatic, and harmonically adventurous. Composed in 1842, it is somewhat in the manner of the “Military” Polonaise, but this one is even more powerful, more dynamic. One feels this from the first instant, where the ominous, muttering runs create a sense of expectancy and of power tightly restrained. That power bursts out when this polonaise begins to dance, but this is not the polite dance of the ballroom – this one explodes across the keyboard, driven along by thunderous runs, trills, and complex chording. A series of arpeggiated
chords leads to the center section (sometimes compared to the pound of horses’ hooves): here the rapid lefthand octaves accompany a stirring right-hand melody that has been likened to trumpet calls. This center section – quite lengthy and itself divided into further subdivisions – leads to a return of the fiery dance from the opening section, but now Chopin abbreviates this dance and drives the polonaise directly to its exciting close.

Sonata Reminiscenza in A minor,
Op. 38, No. 1
NICKOLAI MEDTNER
Born January 5, 1880, Moscow
Died November 13, 1951, London
The name – and music – of Nikolai Medtner have almost vanished from contemporary concert life, but in the first decades of the 20th century, he was one of the most respected pianists before the public. He trained at the Moscow Conservatory, where he studied piano with Safonov and composition with Taneyev, and then embarked on a career as both pianist and composer. He taught briefly at the Conservatory, but like so many other Russian artists, he chose to leave his homeland in the years after the Revolution. He settled first in Paris but found himself more comfortable in England, where he spent the final two decades of his life.
Medtner’s music has sometimes been compared to the music of his good friend Rachmaninoff (who dedicated his Fourth Piano Concerto to Medtner), yet Medtner went his own way as a composer. His most popular works remain his series of Contes, or “Fairy Tales,” and Medtner liked evocative names for his sonatas: his catalog lists such diverse titles as Sonata Romantica, Sonata-Ballada, Sonate-Idylle, and Sonata Minacciosa. In the years 1918- 20, just before he left Russia, Medtner composed a series of collections that he called Forgotten Melodies, made up of diverse works for piano, and his Sonata Reminiscenza is from the first of these collections.
The Sonata Reminiscenza, a one-movement sonata that spans a quarterhour, is built not on the conflict of the classical sonata but instead on the continuous evolution of lyrical ideas, which are stated, extended, and sometimes woven together contrapuntally. The sonata opens with its principal idea, which has sometimes been described as the “theme of reminiscence.” This haunting melody sets the nostalgic (and beautiful) atmosphere of the entire work, and Medtner takes care to mark it sempre espressivo e disinvolto (that last term means “casual” or “free and easy”). More animated material intrudes as the movement proceeds, but the principal theme always returns to restore order, and finally that theme brings the Sonata Reminiscenza to its close.
Medtner composed this sonata in the cottage of the painter Anna Troyanovskaya, set deep in a forest southwest of Moscow. Medtner and his wife Anna had fled there to escape the violence and disruption the Revolution had brought to Russian cities, and Troyanovskaya has left an account of hearing the Sonata Reminiscenza for the first time during the winter of 1920: It was an evening in January, when a proper lamp was burning on the piano, something we thought a rare luxury and comfort. Nikolay Karlovich called us to him, we stood by the piano, Anna’s head rested on my shoulder, and he played for the first time in full his Sonata Reminiscenza. Our total solitude in the forest, the winter behind the dark windows of his room and the richness of the piano sonority under his hands – all this made an absolutely magical impression on us.

Pétrouchka Suite
IGOR STRAVINSKY
Born June 17, 1882, Oranienbaum
Died April 6, 1971, New York City
In the early 1920s, Igor Stravinsky, one of the greatest orchestrators in history and creator of some of the finest music ever written for orchestra, began to write for solo piano. There were several reasons for this. In the aftermath of World War I, Stravinsky discovered that orchestras that could play huge and complex scores were rare (and expensive). And in any case, Stravinsky did not wish to go on repeating himself by writing opulent ballets. But the real factor that attracted Stravinsky to the piano was that he was a pianist and so could supplement his uncertain income as a composer by appearing before the public as both creator and performer; this was especially important during the uncertain economic situation following the war.
While not a virtuoso pianist, Stravinsky was a capable one, and over the next few years came a series of works for piano that Stravinsky introduced and then played on tour. The impetus for all this piano music may well have come from Artur Rubinstein, who asked the composer to prepare a version of the ballet Pétrouchka for solo piano, which Stravinsky did during the summer of 1921. Rubinstein paid Stravinsky what the composer called “the generous sum of 5,000 francs” for this music, but
Stravinsky made clear that his aim was not to cash in on the popularity of the ballet: “My intention was to give virtuoso pianists a piece of a certain breadth that would permit them to enhance their modern repertory and demonstrate a brilliant technique.” Stravinsky stressed that this was not a transcription for piano, nor was he trying to make the piano sound like an orchestra; rather, he was rewriting orchestral music specifically as piano music.
The ballet Pétrouchka, with its haunting story of a pathetic puppet brought to life during a Russian fair, has become so popular that it is easy to forget that this music had its beginning as a sort of piano concerto. Stravinsky said: “I had in my mind a distinct picture of a puppet, suddenly endowed with life, exasperating the patience of the orchestra with diabolical cascades of arpeggi.” That puppet became Pétrouchka, “the immortal and unhappy hero of every fair in all countries,” as the story of the ballet took shape, but the piano itself receded into the background of the ballet; perhaps it was only natural that Stravinsky should remember the ballet’s origins when Rubinstein made his request for a piano version.
Stravinsky drew the piano score from three of the ballet’s four tableaux. The opening movement, Russian Dance, comes from the end of the first tableau: the aged magician has just touched his three puppets – Pétrouchka, the Ballerina, and the Moor – with his wand, and now the three leap to life and dance joyfully. Much of this music was given to the piano in the original ballet score, and here this dance makes a brilliant opening movement. The second movement, In Pétrouchka’s Cell, is the ballet’s second tableau, which introduces the hapless Pétrouchka trapped in his room and railing against fate and shows the entrance of the ballerina. The third movement, The Shrove Tide Fair, incorporates most of the music from the ballet’s final tableau, with its genre pictures of a St. Petersburg square at carnival time: various dances, theentrance of a peasant and his bear, gypsies, and so on. Here, however, Stravinsky excises the end of the ballet (where Pétrouchka is murdered and the tale ends enigmatically) and replaces it with the more abrupt ending that he wrote for concert performances of the ballet suite.